


Evening Rescue (1/10)

by Betor



Series: Rescue Series [1]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-10
Updated: 2010-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betor/pseuds/Betor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See why the bad guys are always able to sneak up on Clark. See Lex get his gay on.<br/>Alternate Universe, First Time, Humor. Spoilers For: All episodes.<br/>First story in the Rescue Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Evening Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> After watching one too many episodes where, despite possessing the advantage of superhearing, Clark allows yet another bad guy to tip up on him, I began to ponder why Clark is too distracted to notice the whole teams of bad guys. Hmmm. Why? Why? Why? What could Clark possibly be doing that would leave him soooo distracted?

Lex leans against the thick wooden door of Burkdale House's guest bathroom and stares at the open window. Heavy yellow curtains shift subtly in the chill December wind. He can glimpse the quarter moon shining through the bare branches of the trees outside and smell city traffic fumes.

He kicks the diamond patterned hassock away from the ladies side of the vanity counter and sits down in front of the door. He's surrounded by his own reflections in the rectangular mirrors that stretch over the his and hers white marble counters that flank him. Both counters are stocked with red tissue boxes, snowman shaped soap bottles, matching snowman towels and a thin stack of magazines.

He picks up for the Metro Business News and sneers at the photo of his dad standing in front of LuthorCorp with Santa. Tomorrow, his photo will be in the Daily Planet. He will be smiling in the midst of a cluster of happy LexCorp scholarship winners. Take that Santa, Dad.

Lex picks up an abandoned pen and inks a green angel halo over Lionel's head. Then he adds a devil's tail curling up behind his dad's shoulder holding up the halo. After a moment's consideration, he puts a long, curling mustache beneath his dad's nose and devil horns peeking from beneath Santa's hat. What would his last shrink - the very late and completely unlamented Dr. Foster - have to say about that?

He can almost hear her droning on about subliminal expressions of hostility and encouraging him to consider art therapy. Oh, fuck her. What does she know? She's moldering in the castle crypts with Sir Lionel of Ludworth. She really should've known better than to agree to a secret cryptside meeting with him, but then, he'd never met a shrink who wasn't completely confident of being able to manage him. Lex smirks.

He sketches a fencer, lunging into the photo and skewing his dad as he considers his chances of luring select cretins to a festive evening event at the Luthor Manor crypts. It would be a crying shame to let that Oliver-size space go to waste, and most unfair to fail to supply Lady Ludworth with her share of eternal companionship.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Are you alright?" Clark tentatively pats the sobbing girl's shoulders. It's probably not fair to be wistfully thinking of Chloe and Lana. No matter how many times he rescued them, neither girl cried all over him afterwards. In fact, Chloe usually trampled his toes on the way to her laptop so she could start writing and Lana hurried off to read up on the latest lie-detecting technology.

The girl sniffles against his chest. "Nooooo."

Clark glances down at the unconscious mugger sprawled on the sidewalk, before desperately scanning the area for the girl's date. How long could it take to park a car? If anyone's going to have to cope with a crying girl, it should be her escort. Oh, shit. What if the girl is going to the party?

What if she recognizes him from Met U? He cranes his neck, but her face is buried against his white dress shirt. Of course, that means that she's not looking at his face either, so that's good. And she'd been focused on the mugger earlier so he's probably okay on that. He squints beneath her pink coat - good a sweater and jeans. All the girls at the party are in skimpy cocktail dresses. This one must be going to the apartments next door.

"There. There," Clark murmurs awkwardly. How does he get into these situations? The date might smack him when the guy shows up to find another guy holding his girl. His parents will smack him if he abandons a distressed damsel no matter how much crying is involved. And Chloe is definitely going to smack him if she finds out about this bare-faced rescue. She's only been urging him to get a costume for years now.

Maybe he shouldn't mention this one little tiny rescue to Chloe. Or Pete. Or Oliver and the guys. No reason for Chloe to find out about it even if she does spend quality time working her network of law enforcement contacts. It's not like he used his powers in front of the girl. Anyone could've knocked the mugger out cold. A.C. Oliver. Victor. Whitney. Chloe. Lex. Lois. Lana. Jimmy - okay, maybe not Jimmy.

Clark looks over his shoulder at the twinkly light bedecked Victorian mansion behind him. Shadows of people shift back and forth behind the brightly lit windows. Bits of Christmas music escape whenever the door opens. He scowls, wondering if Lex has looked away from that woman's amazing boobage long enough to notice that his very best friend has been gone a good forty minutes and counting. Clark looks hopefully to his right as he hears the rapid patter of footsteps.

"Lisa? Hey, Lisa? I found a spot for the car. Are you ready to," a short blond guy strolls around the corner. He stops and stares. "Lisa?"

Thank god! Clark promptly drops his arms and steps back. Where the hell had the guy parked? East Mongolia? West Australia? He takes another step into the shadows as Lisa launches herself at the guy. Clark backs toward the hedge looming behind him, annnd foooosh, up and over.

"Craig! Oh, Craig. I was mugged! And then this guy - wait, where did he go? He was right here!"

.


	2. Evening Rescue (2/10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex discovers something unexpected about himself.

Eventually his lying bastard of a best friend is going to come back through that window and this time he is going to catch Clark in the act. Hopefully an act that even Clark will be forced to concede is beyond explanation - even in the skewed-logic of Clark World. Unless, of course, Clark has re-entered via the front door, and is now merrily flirting with that guy. The one with all the hair.

Lex scowls. One call and hair guy would wake up in a back ally with a shaved head. One fucking call. One. He glares at the window. He ignores an impatient tap on the door. Let them find their own damned bathroom to stake out. There are other bathrooms in the house, but the one at the top of the third floor landing is the easiest to find and consequently the one that he'd directed Clark to earlier. It was only after Clark had been gone a good thirty-two minutes that he'd began to wonder what sort of problems a Smallville resident might encounter in a Metropolis bathroom.

An unfortunate bidet incident, perhaps. Stupid shiny shampoo commercial hair guy. Meteor infected alligators lunging up from the sewers to take a bite out of Clark's clueless ass. It seemed the sort of thing that a close friend and host ought to check on. So he'd eased through the party guests, tipped lightly upstairs, and picked the lock on the bathroom door.

Lex absently draws a comet blazing over a photo of the mayor's family. He draws a droopy straw hat over the mayor's face and adds pair of overalls beneath, and then transforms the mayor's proud wife into Mrs. Scarecrow. Hmm, his dad's photo is bigger. Has the mayor noticed that? That's not going to go over well. Perhaps he should bring it to the mayor's notice and mention his dad's latest construction plans. It would be very sad if that got held up by zoning problems.

And look, there's a headshot of Ollie Queen next to a breathless interview celebrating the millionaire's assets, both personal and corporate. Another shiny blond that belongs in a shampoo commercial. A blond who spends far, far too much time with Clark. He inks a tiara on Ollie's head and adds dangling earrings. Lex adds a dainty, gloved hand doing a royal wave. He frames the photo between the crushing jaws of a crocodile. Much better.

One can never have too many carnivorous creatures chewing on one's enemies. He returns to his dad's photo and draws a crocodile, happily munching on Lionel's long legs. Lex slides back his sleeve and looks at his thin gold watch. There's a limit to how long a host can disappear before guests begin to notice. Especially a celebrity host.

He spends a few minutes admiring Napoleon's profile and thinking of how proud his mother would be of his scholarship program. He slides his sleeve back down and glowers at the open window. Where the hell is that fucking alien? Does Clark have any idea - no, of course the brunette doesn't.

Clark never did until unfortunate events occurred, and then the brunette was either righteously indignant, or very apologetic. Lex sighs and returns to absently doodling on the newspaper in between targeting the window with impatient stares. It's getting rather chilly in here and Clark knows damned fucking well how much he hates being cold.

It makes him think of hospitals and those drafty gowns that he hadn't been able to refuse as a child. Smallville Medical staff know better than to so much as think about handing him one of those ass-baring gowns. Waking up to a dad openly claiming to love him had been bad enough without the ass gowns. What the hell is wrong with his dad these days? Luthors did not stand around in hospital corridors, embracing, and crooning, "I love you."

Lex looks down at the paper and blinks. The white space and most of the text is covered with sketches. He smiles at a Clark silhouette, standing on the edge of Chandler's windmill. Wait. His smile disappears as he takes a second look at the sketch. That an oddly positioned pose. What's Clark's hands doing - shit! Lex drops his pen.

That's - well, so what? Many artists focused on nudes. Drawing someone in the process of jerking off, that's not anything new either. Besides it's not like he compulsively draws his best friend naked and jerking off. So he'd sketched one naked Clark out of - his eyes widen as he stares at the paper. It's covered with naked naughty Clarks! A winged Clark writhes on a cloud, hands busy. Another Clark stares up at the comet, shading his gaze with his free hand. Clark poses coyly behind a tractor, his hands and lower body concealed from the viewer. There's Clark brazenly mooning the viewer as he shoots over the moon. Clark lazily stroking away on a haystack.

What the fuck had his subconscious been snorting, inhaling, or drinking? Lex stares at the cavorting Clarks; each one boldly showing off all the anatomical details of varying degrees of arousal. What the hell is going on? He's never been interested in guys that way. Never had the faintest impulse to - except - there had been that day. His first day at Excelsior.

He had been reasonably satisfied with the day. The initial reaction to his baldness, once the others had figured out that he hadn't shaved himself, that he had been braced for and expected. He'd been ready with an amusing tale of a chemistry experiment gone awry as a way of appealing to the science geek crowd. He'd counted on his fencing trophies and speed on the soccer field as his ticket to acceptance with the jocks.

All in all, as a first day in a new school, things had gone reasonably well - until his team had hit the showers just as the older boys were finishing up. Steam had drifted around the herds of half-dressed, semi-dressed, and undressed boys in the locker room. And then, Oliver had walked out of that steamy whiteness like a bare bronzed Apollo, towel slung casually around his neck as he laughed with the boy beside him.

Lex wiggles his toes in his leather shoes. He can almost feel the damp tiles beneath his feet again. The thankfully heavy drape of the white towel that had concealed the startling reaction of his body as he stared at the unofficial star of the school. He'd never been certain what had shown on his face that day; what had leaked through the close guard that he usually kept around his dad and other potential hostiles.

Surprise, certainly. Shock, possibly. Embarrassment, perhaps. Interest? Arousal? He'd never been certain what had tipped off Oliver's friend. Had Alden's sneering comments been a weapon aimed at the new kid and selected at random? Or had the other boy noticed the tentative stirring beneath his towel? Seen something in his eyes?

Silence had settled over the locker room as Alden elbowed Oliver's side and yelled, "Pansy Alert!"

He had looked around at the other boys' faces and felt his thin ice of social acceptance beginning to crack. Oliver's reaction had been what had shattered that ice. The older boy had stared at him with open contempt and slowly, oh-so-slowly, pulled the towel away from his tanned throat and wrapped it around his waist. "Don't be ridiculous, Alden."

For a second, he had believed that Oliver was going to let it go. Let him go. That perhaps the whispered warnings about bullies had been wrong in naming Oliver Queen. Then Oliver had said, "You don't make an accusation like that without evidence."

And then his towel had been yanked away to reveal the full extent of his bareness and his half-hard cock to everyone in the locker room. His first impulse had been to kill Oliver very, very, very messily. His second, as he stood at the center of a sniggering herd, had been that death was too easy a payback for Oliver. Why kill Oliver once when he could make his new enemy miserable for decades to come?

All the memories that he had lost to Dr. Foster and her damned shock therapy conspiracy with his dad, and that one he retains. Lex rubs a hand over his head. Sir Lionel was too damned good for that bitch. As soon as he gets a chance she's moving to a nice swamp where alligators can gnaw on her moldy bones.

He goes completely still as he sees Clark drift by the window like a over-sized kite. Lex holds back a sigh. He might be bi and Clark can fly. There isn't enough scotch in Metropolis for either one of those, much less the both of them. He drops his head in his hands and tries to massage away his developing headache.

He tries to wrap his mind around the ideas - he wants to fuck his best friend and Clark can fly. His best friend can fly and he wants to fuck Clark. What does it say about him that the fucking seems more worthy of immediate exploration than the flying? When had his inner scientist gone offline and his inner slut come on? In the distance, there's a crackle of thunder that sounds vaguely like Dr. Foster's gleeful cackle of laughter.


	3. Evening Rescue (3/10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark is worried when Lex seems to be losing interest in his secrets.

Clark settles lightly on the wooden floor without the faintest creak. Damn, he's good. Why is getting back in through windows so much harder than getting out? In theory, it shouldn't be any different than parallel parking his truck between two cars, but he always ends up feeling like he's trying to back a bull down two rows of his mom's best china.

He runs a tidying hand through his hair and finds a prickly object - what the heck? He untangles it and finds himself holding a leaf. Damned hedge. It had totally ambushed him on his way to the rescue. It hadn't been his fault. Who in their right mind grew a hedge that high? He dusts another leaf from his shoulder, and then checks his jacket for more foliage.

Why does that kind of stuff always happen to him? He's a good person. He's trying to help people. He glances at his watch. Damn. What if Lex has noticed his absence? What's he gonna say? Clark sighs loudly and the curtains flutter. There were an awful lot of people at the party and they all seemed hellbent on chatting to Lex.

He'd barely managed to exchange three words with his friend. He's probably got nothing to worry about. He may well stroll back out to discover Lex chatting up another admirer. Clark yanks the window down and then watches in dismay as cracks begin feathering across the bottom pane. Why? Why him? Why?

His mouth firms with determination. Next year, he's gonna tell Lex that there needs to be an explicit dress code for the annual LexCorp Scholar Party. All bosoms will be completely covered at all times. No strapless dresses. No peekaboo lace. No cleavage cutouts. No sweetheart necklines.

Clark tugs the curtains over the cracked glass and turns. He stops so fast that he wobbles as he sees his host sitting in front of the door with the Metro Business News. "Lex! What are you doing here?"

Lex looks up from his paper. "Waiting for you."

"Me? " Clark rounds his eyes into an innocent stare. How long has Lex been watching him? Had Lex seen the float through the window? Crap. Crapcrapcrap. Could he convince his friend that it was an optical illusion? "Me?"

"You." Lex rips the top page off and begins folding it.

"Oh." Clark walks into the outer room. He leans a casual shoulder against the pale yellow wallpaper. Where's Lex's usual gotcha gusto? The gray eyes are shadowed instead of sparking with that special 'Let's-see-you-explain-this-one' triumph. What's wrong? "I wasn't here."

"I noticed."

"I, umm." What? What? Fell down the toilet? Fell out the window? Hid behind the curtains? Shit. He sucks at stuff like that. Lex could probably come up with a dozen excuses while simultaneously doing the rumba and mixing drinks. Clark watches with puzzlement as Lex continues folding. Is it gonna be an origami frog or something? "It was a bet."

"A bet?"

Clark frowns at the steadily decreasing page. Is Lex upset about something in the paper? His friend is kinda extra pale. "Uh-huh. I locked myself in the bathroom and - wait - how did you get in here? I know I locked the door."

"And I picked it." Lex slips the paper in his trouser pocket. "You didn't think that I spent all my time at Excelsior studying, did you?"

"Interesting article?" Clark squints, trying to read the print, but the tiny folds and crumbled fronts defeat him. What could have Lex looking so flushed and guilty? He squints harder and hastily looks away as he gets a flash of black boxer briefs and a dizzying glimpse of completely bare skin beneath. Ohgodgodgod. Now he's hard and Lex is sitting at prime viewing level. Clark casually buttons his navy suit jacket.

"In that PR fluff rag? Don't be ridiculous. What happened, Clark?"

"I told you. There was a bet."

"With?" Lex asks.

"Pete."

"Pete. I suppose Chloe was in on this bet as well."

Clark frowns, mistrusting the acid note in the other man's voice. If he asked Chloe to work the imaginary bet into a conversation with Lex, she would, but she'd want to know why and he'd have to admit to the rescue and listen to another lecture about costumes. No, better go with Pete for this one. "No. Just Pete. I climbed down and then back up. Pete didn't think that I could do it."

"I looked out the window."

"Oh. You did?" Clark straightens, his gaze intent on his friend's face. It makes him feel all warm and tingly to think that not only had Lex noticed that he was gone, but had even come looking for him. He flashes a dazzling smile. His smile dims. Uh-oh. Lex is getting that look.

The scary one; the I-Am-One-With-My-Inner-Mad-Scientist stare that makes him think that maybe, just maybe, he might have gone the tiniest bit too far. Clark squirms under the slow measuring look that shifts from him to the window and back again. "Uhm, really?"

"Yes. Really." Lex stands up. "It's a sheer drop. No handy vines. No helpfully played balconies. Spiderman could make the climb, but unless you're hiding a harness and some belay rope, I doubt that you could."

Clark draws himself up to his full height. "Well, I did. Want me to do it again?"

Lex looks him up and down. "Climbing gear would ruin the fit of that suit."

Clark is stricken silent by a sudden vision of things that he could do with a nice length of rope and a willing Lex. He's never tried the rope thing out. Never even considered it, but it might be fun with the right person. His gaze slides speculatively down his friend's lean body. Oh, god. Why does he always think about stuff like that around Lex? Now he's even harder. Friends don't check each other out. Not like that.

Not even if one friend might have been around another friend early this morning while said friend was all pink and white with exertion after a fencing bout. Not even when the friend sorta accidentally looked through sweat damp clothes for just a second and noticed that there was only a jockstrap with a very big cup beneath those snug white pants. At least an XL sized cup.

He hadn't meant to peek. It just sorta happened. And he had been punished for it - he's been distracted all day by jockstrap fantasies. Clark flicks a sidelong glance at the closest mirror. Can Lex tell that he's got serious wood going on? Oh, god. He's got bulge. He's got very bulgy bulge. Shit. The jacket mostly conceals it, but there's definite bulge going on beneath. Clark steps closer. "Come on, Lex. We're missing the party."

"So are you admitting that there's a Spiderman factor in this equation?"

Clark tucks his hands in his pockets and then takes them out. He checks the knot at his throat and smooths the end of his tie back beneath his jacket. He glances under his lashes at Lex; that impassive stone pharaoh expression is solidifying on the pale face.

Damn it. He's been seeing that look more and more often in these situations. He'd rather have the mad scientist stare down than the stone pharaoh expression. Shit. The last thing he wants is to lose Lex's friendship. What if he confesses to one power? One. It's not like there aren't herds of powered up non-aliens stampeding around Smallville on a daily basis.

Maybe one measly power admission might be all that Lex needs. He'll just tell his parents that he had to; better for Lex to think that he's a garden variety meteor freak. Why hadn't he thought of that before? It's not like Lex doesn't know about them. Heck, Lex is a meteor mutant. Okay. Okay. He's gonna go for it. But which power should he confess to? "It's - well - you see - "

Lex opens the door and steps out of the bathroom. "Never mind."

What? Never mind? Never mind! Clark's eyes widen in shock and then narrow with temper. Never mind? He's on the verge of finally confessing to one little super power, admitting to something that Lex has spent seven years trying to prove, and Lex is - turning away, opening the door, and walking out. He stumbles over the threshold and grabs his friend's shoulder. "Wait! Lex, I -"

Lex glances back. "It's been a long day, Clark, and I have a party to host."

"There's an all night coffee house down the block," Clark suggests. "We could go there and talk after the party."

Lex sighs and rubs his face. "I have a headache. I think I'll go home tonight and rest. Perhaps some other time."

Some other time?! He's finally ready to admit to - something - and it's all 'never mind'? He's ready to kinda sorta confess, and Lex is all 'some other time'? What the heck? It's gotta have something to do with that newspaper. What had been in it? What could possibly be important enough to distract Lex from him? He's gotta get a copy of that paper.


	4. Evening Rescue (4/10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Chloe talk on thier way back from a mission. Chloe reconsiders her career choices.

"Chloe."

Chloe rubs her cheek against the buttery smoothness of leather. She turns, curling the opposite way, and frowns at the puff of cool air across her face. Her hair flutters against her cheek. She squeezes her eyes tighter shut as darkness gives away to random flashes of lights against her face. She wiggle away and presses her face against something firm as an oak tree and soft as a baby duck.

"Chloe, wake up."

She opens her eyes. The sight of black wool, tanned skin, and cropped blond hair wakes her even more. Chloe jerks away, blinking at the streetlights. She pulls a tiny lace-edged handkerchief from her slim turquoise purse and tries to wipe away the smudge of make-up from the fabric of her companion's tux. "Sorry, Oliver."

"Don't worry about it." He shrugs making the faint smear of lip gloss glitter in the glow of the streetlights. "You slept all the way back to Metropolis."

"I did?" Chloe drops the rose-stained hankie back into her purse and sets the satin clutch on the matching folds of her long gown. She turns her head, gold earrings brushing her bare shoulders as she searches the faces of the people strolling from the movies to the coffee house.

Shit! That's Lois. Chloe sinks down in her seat, and casually turns her head away to hide her profile as they pass. Please, please, please don't let Lois spot her cruising along looking suspiciously datish with her cousin's not-quite-an-ex.

She already spends far more time around Oliver than she can easily explain away. How many times can she 'accidentally' encounter the millionaire? Or claim to be hounding him for an interview? Or say that she had really been visiting with Clark, Bart, A.C., or Victor, and that Oliver merely happened to be there?

"Maybe you should take some time off from the team. Rest up." Oliver reaches up and pulls his black tie loose. He unfastens his collar. "I mean usually you're bouncing off the walls no matter how long the day."

Chloe fakes a cheerful smile. "Lois is going to be so annoyed when she hears that she missed a Green Arrow appearance."

"Is she?" Oliver grimaces. "She doesn't write much about him since she found out."

"That doesn't mean that she doesn't keep up with all Green Arrow related rumors and stories." Chloe grins. "Or that she doesn't think he looks really hot in all that leather."

Oliver brightens. "She does?"

"Ummhmm. She likes the motorcycle too. My cousin's always had a fondness for a man on a motorcycle."

"So why has she stopped writing about him?"

"She's more comfortable writing about people that she's not personally involved with."

Oliver stops at a red light. He glances at the bulk of Burkdale House looming ahead of them. "You don't seem to have a problem with it."

"And Lois doesn't have some of the regrets that I do. I have gone too far a few times," Chloe winces as she remembers how hard she'd pushed Clark secrets when she was younger. "Pushed too hard. Thought too little about how my words and the way that I used them might impact someone."

"I've been on the other side of an interview with Lois," Oliver reminds her. "She didn't hold back because we were dating at the time, or because I had contributed to Mrs. Kent's campaign fund."

"She's going to be good, very good, once she gets more experienced."

"Clark said that she had recently been offered a full time position at the Planet."

"Now that she's finally completed the accelerated degree program that I told her about. She's been taunting Clark all week about the fact that he's still at Met U while she's not only finished, but has a place at the Planet." Chloe reaches up and unfastens the heavy earrings that Lana had made for her. She drops the jewelry into her evening bag.

"So that's what Clark's been brooding about. I had wondered. But Lois doesn't write about the Green Arrow even when he does something in front of her. I've offered interviews to her and she's referred me to you." Oliver stares out the windshield, watching a group of giggling students amble across the street. "How am I supposed to take that? How can she not care any more?"

"It's because she does care that she walked away from the Green Arrow stories. And the Oliver stories."

"But you -"

Chloe shakes her head at him as the light changes and he accelerates. "Lois and I each chose our ways to deal with what we know. She chose to keep her writing straight; to not write what she couldn't tell the truth about. My writing is as slanted as a slate roof. I slant to protect you, to protect Clark, to protect the team, and to protect myself."

He flicks a sidelong look at her. "You say that like it's a bad thing?"

"It is. I haven't written a totally honest story since I was in high school. Not when it involves Clark. Or the team. Or me. Not even when it involves Lex or Lionel because I have to slant stories about them to screen out information that might impact the team or my friends."

Oliver pats her hand. "You're being to hard on yourself, Chloe. You're a great friend and a great team member. We all value what you do. I'm sure that Clark does too."

"That's exactly it. I'm a good friend and a good team player, but am I a good journalist?"

He grins at her. "The best."

"When I was in high school, I wanted to be Nellie Bly. I wanted to expose evil and corruption. I wanted to tell the truth. I wanted to make things better."

"You do."

"My priority used to be the truth. But ever since I found out about Clark, my priority changed to helping and protecting him. Then there was the team and my priority extended to helping and protecting them. I don't think that I'm a journalist any more, Oliver." Chloe flattens the full folds of her skirt, suddenly feeling as she's drowning in all the turquoise satin. She wants the comfort of her jeans and cotton shirts instead of the slippery fabric and the constriction of the snug bodice. "I've become the superhero go to girl - one part spin doctor, one part research assistant, one part tech support, and one part office manager."

"Chloe -"

"Don't. I don't want to talk about it any more." She looks away, pretending interest in the people inside the ice cream shop. Chloe sighs. She has secrets even from Oliver. She can't ask him any of the questions that have left her staring into the darkness of her apartment night after night as she thinks of all the stillborn stories that she should have written and hasn't.

Stories that might have led to the CDC studying and containing meteor rock. Stories that might have led people to recognize the dangers and avoid exposure to the rocks. Stories that have might allowed her fellow victims to realize what had happened to them and seek treatment.

Stories that might have led to there being more treatment centers than the one that Lana had founded the proceeds from her growing coffee empire. Stories that might have told victims where they could seek help. How many had gone in desperation to LexCorp instead of the Isis Foundation because of their lack of information? What additional horrors had befallen them there?

And then there were all the alien stories. Dangerous criminal aliens that had escaped from the Phantom Zone. Perhaps if she'd written about them, the appropriate law enforcement agencies might have found ways to contain and deal with them. Chloe winces as she thinks of the attempted invasion of Smallville and the deputies who had died while trying to protect the citizens from a threat that none of them had known existed.

Would she have written about the dangers of meteor rock if she wasn't a freak? If some of her friends weren't? Would she have sounded the alarm on the potential perils of another invasion if her best friend wasn't an alien? And what kind of journalist does that makes her.?

"Shit!" Oliver swerves hard as a low, lean black car shoots out of Burk House's tiny parking lot as if it's rocket powered. "Damned Luthor!"

Chloe clutches her seat as horns blare behind. Her purse hits the floorboard as the Porsche zags around them, graceful as an ice-skater, and zips off. She twists to stares out the rear window at the pair rapidly receding taillights and a LEX VXIII plate. "What set the psycho off?"

"I went to school with him and I can tell you that it doesn't take that much. Maybe his chef burned his dinner. Maybe his wine wasn't at exactly the right temperature." Oliver turns to Chloe. "Never mind that idiot. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"Wonderful." Oliver's hands flex around the steering wheel. "I'll take this up with Lex later."


	5. Evening Rescue (5/10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex drinks and broods over his personal revelation. Gina tries to attract his interest.

Lex lifts a bottle of scotch he'd started at LexCorp and drinks. Perhaps after all the shocks that he'd had tonight, a helicopter isn't the most inspired choice of conveyance, but it is the fastest way back to Smallville. Out of all the places that he has to go, it's still the one that draws him like a magnet. The one that feels the most like home, despite all the shit that happened to him there.

Clark can fly. That merits another drink. How fast? How high? How long? How the hell had he missed that? Perhaps it's a new development. Surely an experienced flier wouldn't have had so much trouble trying to maneuver back through the window. Clark had looked a little wobbly out there - rather like a baby hummingbird. Or a drunk bumblebee.

Lex stares out his window into the dark. Is Clark zooming past even now? He hadn't seen the big red truck outside Burkdale. He presses closer to the glass. He can't detect anything except the clouded darkness of the sky and the reflections - his pale face and the edge of Gina's as she stares at him.

"Mr. Luthor? Are you okay? Lex?"

"I'm fine." Lex turns away from his window and frowns repressively at her. He wants to drink his scotch and brood, not talk to her. He wants to think about Clark. About - he tugs a fold of wool coat over his lap. He can't blame it on cumulative head trauma as much as he would like to.

As much as he hates to admit it, there had been that second when he'd looked at shiny blond Oliver and considered, however briefly, the possibilities. Lex takes a long drink. Perhaps he is reading far too much into those naked Clarks. He could make a case that a Clark bare of clothing is the symbolic equivalent of a Clark bare of lies.

Only there's the whole jerking off part. Lex sighs. He can't really think of an excuse for that. He's got a pageful of naked, jerking off Clarks in his pocket. Dr. Foster was right. He is crazy. Fuck. Where's a shrink the one time that he actually wants one? Of all the things that he'd planned to do with his best friend, fucking had not been among the top ten. Much less the first thing on the list.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dr. Foster is chatting away about sublimation again and smirking over the state of his cigar. Bitch. Lex scowls and tugs coat further over his lap. Perhaps his cigar is confused, and what the fuck does Dr. Foster know about it? She doesn't have a cigar. Fuck it all. Dr. Foster's smirk gets bigger as she suggests that they talk about his favorite word - 'fuck'. He likes the word. He uses it a fucking lot. So fucking what?

And fuck you too, Dr. Foster, while he's at it. See? It doesn't mean anything. Merely an aggressive way to vocalize hostility. So what if there had been plenty of occasions when he cursed Clark's fucking name every fucking hour all fucking day?

Threatened to fuck Clark up. Fuck Clark over. Fuck Clark's head up but good. Fuck Clark. Goddamnitall. The bitch is right. He does use fuck a hell of a lot in conjunction with Clark's name. Fuck it all in a fucking haystack, he does really want to fuck his best friend. God, he hates shrinks.

Gina smiles at him. She reaches up to unfasten her dark hair and shakes it back over the shoulders of her black coat. Someone has been watching too many old movies. The glasses should be next - and there they go. His lips curl into a sneer.

Lex looks away as his thoughts circle around another brunette - the one most likely to give him heart failure in the near future. What had Clark seen in his mind in the Intercept lab that night? Anything that might prevent his newly discovered goal of getting underneath Clark's boxers?

He's watched the stolen video footage from the Project Intercept lab. Watched it over and over again, but no memories had surfaced. Zod, like Belle Reve, still surfaces in his nightmares, and yet he never dreams of whatever happened in the Intercept lab. Is that a good sign or bad?

All he knows is what's on the grainy black and white film. Himself strapped onto a metal platform that brings back uneasy memories of the asylum. There had been no emotion showing on his face, no words rising to his lips. Clark had been more expressive. Worry, fear, anger, pain, pity, and sadness flickering over the brunette's features as his body twisted and twitched. Clark had occasionally murmured 'Lex' and 'Alexander', but otherwise had been silent. What had the tears that sometimes dampened and spiked the sweep of Clark's dark lashes been about?

He'd never thought from the first viewing that Clark had intended, or even attempted to control his mind as Zod had. No. Clark had been on one of his snooping expeditions; only the location had changed. Lex drinks deeply. Anyone else, he would have killed on general principle after seeing that recording. But Clark - at times he wonders if the alien's sheer amazing beauty had been a deliberate defense, as genetically selected and useful as a peacock's tail feathers.

His lips tighten. He has tidied up behind Clark for years, but always remained regulated to the outermost edges of Clark's secrets. Does Oliver know? Clark works with the Jerkwad Team; Oliver has to know that Clark has special abilities. Clark hasn't even admitted that much to him. Lex mutters, "Bastard."

"Sir?" Gina asks, leaning toward him from her seat.

"Nothing," Lex snaps. Why is good security so damned hard to find? His dad doesn't seem to have these sort of troubles. Occasionally one of his dad's team might take a potshot, or have a go at arranging a kidnapping, or selling information. But none of his dad's security ever got so - what is it about him that makes his people turn into obsessive whack jobs? Lex narrows his eyes at Gina as she smiles tremulously back at him. This is how it always begins; they start trying to treat him like a friend instead of an employer. And then, they rapidly become increasingly tedious.

Gina holds his gaze for a second longer before lowering her eyes. Then her glance flickers back up, her dark eyes glitter with hunger. "Mr. Luthor. Can I do anything for you?" Gina looks briefly at the outline of his cock beneath his wool trousers. She licks her lips as she looks back up into his eyes.

"Not at the present."

"Whatever you want, sir." Gina's hands flutter restlessly over her coat.

He watches as her trembling hand lifts and hovers over his knee. She's already touched him without invitation, permission, or even the excuse of exercising her duties as bodyguard. Twice. Three is the limit of his tolerance. Lex waits. Is she going to - no.

Gina's hand slowly resettles on her thigh as the pilot announces that they've arrived at Luthor Manor. Lex clutches his bottle as the copter makes a stomach-clenching swoop down to the landing pad in the gardens.


	6. Evening Rescue (6/10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark frets over why Lex was so distracted and talks to Lois.

"Trust you to hole up in a corner and brood instead of chatting up cuties." Lois settles onto the red metal chair on the opposite side of the tiny metallic black table. She sets her beer bottle on a red napkin. "Do you even know that a gorgeous blond has been trying to flirt with you for the last ten minutes?"

"Huh?" Clark looks up from his copy of the Metro Business News. What the heck had set Lex off tonight? Surely Lex didn't care about the grand opening of a new electronics store in the mall. Or that a shoe store was moving out of it. That left the mayor's wife, who was starting a catering service. Or Lionel's refurbished playground. Or Oliver's interview. He blinks at Lois. "What did you say?"

"Tall. Blond. Hot." Lois tilts her bottle toward a man sitting at the far end of the bar. "Wants you. God knows why."

"Ummmhmmm." Clark glances indifferently at the blond's warm smile and then goes back to frowning at his newspaper. Could Lex be having an affair with the mayor's wife? She is brunette. Kinda matronly looking in his opinion. Okay, so maybe she had a really big bosom, and Lex seemed to like that kind of thing, but -

"When did you start reading this?" Lois taps a red fingernail against the headline. "Why are you reading it? Is there an article on the future of the organic farming industry?"

"I was curious. Lex was reading it earlier today." Clark frowns at Lionel's photo. Maybe he should do a walk through of that new playground. Discreetly check it out. Make sure it was all it should be. Not that he didn't think that it would be concealing something bad; old Lionel might have done something like that, but he doesn't think that Jor El's emissary, the new improved Lionel would. Still it wouldn't hurt to check. Just in case of backsliding. "Something in it upset him."

"Give that here." Lois grabs the paper. She smooths it over on the small table and begins studying it.

"Hey! I was reading that."

"Chill, Smallville." Lois takes a drink. "I assume it was something on 1A since you haven't turned a page since I got here."

"Don't you have anything better to do than spy on me?" Clark picks up his tumbler of scotch and takes a tiny sip. He imagines sucking it off Lex's pale skin and lets the drink slide slowly over his tongue. Imagines Lex's tongue sliding over his. Ohgod.

"Not at the moment. Watching Hot Blond almost fall off his barstool trying to get your attention was the most fun that I've had all day as sad as that is to admit." Lois looks up and frowns at him.

Clark squirms uneasily on the too small chair, trying to find some place for his long legs under the table. He frowns back at her. "What?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

Lois snorts. "Nothing? You're squirming around on that chair like an inchworm on crack. If scotch does that to you, you need to stick with beer."

"It's these chairs. They aren't made for tall guys."

Lois rolls her eyes. "This isn't a drink and kick-back kind of place, Smallville. It's a chat 'em up and take 'em home kind of bar. Hence, Hot Blond - who, by the way, is still making eyes at you. Poor, persistent bastard. You could at least smile at the guy; he's worked hard enough for it."

Clark sighs. "I'm not in the mood for stray blonds, Lois. I want to know what upset Lex."

"Lexlexlex. Always Lex with you."

"Drop it, Lois. I don't see you smiling at the redhead at the corner table."

"He hasn't worked hard enough for it yet. Maybe if he buys me another beer." Lois finishes her bottle and sets it aside. "Damn it! I can't believe that Discount Designer Shoe is moving out of the mall to Denson Drive. Traffic out that way is horrible. I won't be able to get there and back during my lunch hour."

"I doubt that Lex cares about the shoe store."

"Forget him for five seconds, Smallville. I care. The only way I get through the day without knocking that smug smile off Dinah Lance's face is knowing that I have better shoes."

Clark stares down at his drink. His eyes half-close as he inhales the scent; it's almost like Lex is at the table with him. He really shouldn't be teasing himself in like this, particularly not in public, but he needs it tonight. Needs the illusion of Lexness.

"You know, I never got this weird thing that you have with Lex. What does a billionaire and a farmer do on guys' night out, hmmm?" Lois asks.

Not nearly as much doing and being done as he would like. Clark takes a bigger sip at the wistful thought. "You know - stuff. We watch movies. We eat. We talk. I learn a lot of things from him."

"Oh?" Lois perks up. "Got any good business gossip?"

"None." Clark smirks. He knows things that would give the Daily Planet's business reporters and the bigwigs of Metropolis a collective orgasm, but he isn't going to repeat any of it.

"Just asking, Smallville. I knew it was a long shot, what with your complete lack of curiosity about the business world. So what sort of things do you learn from him?" Lois leans back in her chair, watching him with curiosity, clearly trying to imagine what he and Lex found to talk about.

"All kinds of stuff. How to select and wear a tux. How to drink wine. How to drive a Porsche. How to plan a large party. How to run a campaign."

"Campaign? Like a political campaign?" Lois straightens, hazel eyes gleaming with interest. "I've been hearing rumors that he's considering running for office."

"Me, not him. Back before I met you, I ran for student president. And homecoming king."

"Do you have any pictures? God, I've got to see them. Oooh, I bet Chloe has some." Lois laughs. "How bad did you lose? What possessed you to do it?"

"Lana talked me into it." Clark sighs. Lana was every bit as bad as Lex and Chloe for getting him to do stuff that he normally wouldn't do. Each of them had different tactics. Chloe tended to plunge him into the middle of one of her investigations with a fast phone call - 'Lovely weather we're having, but I'd enjoy it so much better if I wasn't locked in a warehouse.' All Lana had to do was give him that look - all teary and pleading.

Lex talked. That husky honeyed voice was completely irresistible. He didn't care if Lex talked about ancient Macedonian politics, or string theory, or how to tell if a girl's boobs were real. Clark grins as he remembers the look on his dad's face after walking in on that conversation. His dad had just been lucky to miss out on learning about zookeepers used panda porn to get the bears to breed.

"Come on, Smallville. How much did you lose by? Did anyone besides my cousin, Lana, and Pete vote for you?"

Clark smirks. "What makes you think I lost, Lois? I did what Lex advised and I won. What can I say? My pal had my back."

"I wouldn't say that too loudly around the gossip - excuse me - society reporters at the Planet."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Clark demands. He hates it when she looks at him with superior expression. Are the tabloids printing stupid stories about Lex again? What is it this time? Considering some of the stuff that had gotten printed about Oliver, he'd think that she'd cut Lex some slack.

"Nothing."

He stares at her. "Lois."

"Nothing. Just something Oliver mentioned. He and Lex went to the same school, you know."

"Excelsior Academy? I know." Clark frowns as it occurs to him how little either man talked about that time. They always acted like they barely knew each other when trapped at a party together. Lex and Oliver almost never mentioned each other. He'd never really thought about that before. Excelsior was a small and elite school. Wouldn't that be like him and Whitney acting like they didn't remember each other? He frowns harder at the idea. "So?"

"Oliver implied that Lex - liked him."

"What?" Clark blinks hard, trying to get rid of the red haze bleeding across his eyes. That can't be true. He blinks faster as he imagines Oliver's tanned blondness wrapped around Lex's lithe paleness. No. No, no, no. No! That's gotta be wrong. "That's crazy. Lex isn't gay."

Lois props her hand on her chin. "Are you sure?"

"What do you mean 'am I sure'? Who's the only gay guy sitting at this table? Of course, I'm sure." Clark draws in a sharp, pain-edged breath and squeezes his eyes tightly shut. Lex likes brunettes. Lex likes girls. He's never seen Lex with a blonde, much less a blond. "That's not true. It can't be."

"Why would Oliver lie about it?" Lois asks. "I don't think he cared that a guy was attracted to him. He was grossed out because the guy was Lex. Who can blame him?"

"I can!" Clark opens his eyes and glares at her. "Anyway, Oliver's wrong. Lex likes girls."

Lois smirks at him. "Maybe your gaydar is busted."

"Very funny. Even if he does like guys, which I doubt since I've never seen him date anyone but girls - he always goes for brunettes, so a blond like Oliver wouldn't make the cut."

"Brunette fetish, huh?" Lois fingers a strand of her long hair. A speculative look flickers across her hazel eyes.

"No."

"No, what?"

"You don't want to go there, Lois. He won't tell you anything that he doesn't want you to know, no matter how much you flirt."

"Ummm. Oliver's dating someone new. No reason why I can't."

"Lois!"

"Relax, Smallville. It's a lovely little idea, and nothing would annoy Oliver more, but to carry it through, I'd have to actually endure a couple of dates with Lex." Lois shudders.

"There's nothing wrong with Lex," Clark snaps. "Not that he'd ask you out in the first place."

"Lots of guys ask me out. Why not Lex?"

"He's your boss for one thing. It wouldn't be right."

Lois laughs. "The boss thing would only make it a bigger thrill for him. Ditto on the whole 'it wouldn't be right.' Add in the whole secretive aspect of a workplace tryst and he'd love it. You know he would."

What if, Clark bites his lip, what if the overt hostility simmering between Lex and Oliver is a cover for a secret affair? That would fit perfectly with Lois' analysis of how Lex would feel about a workplace romance. What if they've been lovers since Excelsior? What if all the girls that they date are for show? What if Oliver is why Lex doesn't date blondes?

"Clark? Clark!"

"Huh?"

"Are you okay? You look sort of weird, well, weirder." Lois frowns at him. "Stop drinking that scotch. You can crash on my couch tonight if you don't feel like driving back home."

Clark finishes the last of his drink. Maybe he'll pick up a fresh bottle on his way home tonight. He's out and he really, really, really needs some personal indulgence time tonight. With Kara spending the night at her friend's home, and his parents in D.C., he'll have some privacy. "Thanks, but I think I'll go home. If you think of anything that Lex might be interested in on that front page, call me."

Lois folds the newspaper. "Nothing is jumping out at me. I'm supposed to drop by Chloe's apartment and watch a documentary on famous female journalists. Maybe she'll spot something."

. 


	7. Evening Rescue (7/10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex pages through past sketchbooks as he comes to terms with his revelation. Clark pleasures himself and thinks of Lex.

Lex walks over to the decanters grouped on a silver tray tucked into one of the rows of oak bookcases that wrap around the walls of the personal library tucked into his suite of rooms. He splashes more whiskey into his coffee cup and then fiddles with the music on his docked mp3 player, changing from classical to club tunes to jazz to classic rock to blues.

Out of excuses, he finally turns to confront the stacks of thick clothbound sketchbooks spread over the antique desk sitting in the center of the room. He takes a fortifying sip of his coffee and moves across the room to sit behind his desk. Lex looks down at the open book in front of him.

At first the drawing seems a typical rural image. Black and white cows in front of a red barn. But the navy plaid shape dangling from the edge of the open loft is a discarded shirt and not a carelessly tossed horse blanket. A crumpled pair of worn jeans are just visible where the beam of sunlight fades into the darkness of the barn. In deepest, most shadowed corner, there's a suggestion of dark hair and strong shoulders sloping into bare back, and below that the hinted rich curve of bare bottom.

Perhaps he should simply skip the coffee and proceed directly to undiluted whiskey. Lex flips to the front of the book and stares at a perfectly unexceptional sketch of Clark in black graduation robes. Proud Martha and Jonathan are watching the ceremony on the next page. There are sketches of Lana, sketches of Talon customers, sketches of cows and horses, hay fields, wheat fields, sunflowers, and scarecrows. Scenes from Crater Lake, and scenes from Luthor Manor gardens, as well as the places that he'd traveled that year.

He closes the book and sets it aside. Once he'd started looking for them, he'd found Clark nudes hidden everywhere. The earlier the dates on the books, the better hidden the figures had been. Subliminal Clarks hiding in the gleam of his cars. Lurking in the ripples of Crater Lake. Dancing in the clouds. Cloaked in the shadows of cornfields. Reflected in the shimmers of sunlight on the Talon's windows. The closer the dates came, the more clearly defined, the more obvious the nudes became.

Lex pulls his latest sketchbook from the stack and opens it. The first page is a close-up of Clark's face. The whole drawing is black and white except for the large teal eyes. He frowns. The shade isn't exactly right. Slightly too blue. Not hued quite jade enough. The next page is Victoria, in a green evening gown, leaning against his penthouse balcony. Kara and a cow regarding each other with mutual dismay.

Then Mercy, all coiled power and grace, as she does a kata. Hope running like cheetah down a garden jogging path. Lana at a riding competition. Nell arranging flowers in her store window. Martha amid her sunflowers. Jonathan trampled by dairy cows. Oliver eaten by zombies. It's not like he hasn't filled his sketchbooks with other people.

The pages are crowded with friends, girlfriends, casual acquaintances, interesting strangers, and enemies, as well as animals and landscapes. But there are far more Clarks than there are other people. And quite a few of those Clarks are decidedly clothing adverse.

Lex studies a sketch of a rain splattered Metropolis street with hurrying pedestrians, huddled under umbrellas and upheld newspapers. Leaning idly against a street light is Clark, wearing nothing but a folded copy of the Daily Planet and a saucy smile. He snaps the book closed, smashing the last naked Clark flat with considerable satisfaction. Perhaps a nice long swim in the indoor pool would help him think.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Clark dips a finger in the glass of scotch on his bedside table and touches the dampness to his throat, imaging Lex's mouth there. Lex sucking at his skin. He strokes the liquid over his tight nipples and shudders against his mattress, "Ohgod. Lex. Please, baby, please."

He wants that mouth on his cock, but Lex would never be that easy or agreeable. Clark rubs his palms over his chest, down his stomach, and the outsides of his thighs. Yeah, that would be Lex. The big tease. All those lingering looks. Those glimpses of bare skin.

The snug gift wrap of those tailored suits hinting the delights beneath silk and wool. Clark pinches his nipples hard as he remembers the sleek gleam of vanilla skin. He imagines catching Lex after a fencing bout like he had this morning. Only instead of making small talk, he shoves Lex up against the wall.

Licks those sweet peach nipples. Tastes the ripple of stomach muscles. Nuzzles the lean hardness of Lex's thighs. Bites the curve of ass. Licks his way into the shadowed enticement of cleft. He would taste it all at his leisure before pulling the jockstrap away and giving Lex satisfaction.

Make Lex wait and wait and wait. Clark pours scotch into his palm and slicks it over the hot length of his cock. Until there's nothing there, but him filling Lex. Him driving out every touch, every taste, every thought and memory of anyone else. His hand moves faster and faster, tugging and pulling and stroking until his body arches in release.

. 


	8. Evening Rescue (8/10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luthor Manor is invaded. Team Lex captures a Project Intercept scientist and question him.  
> Notes: Since the lead scientist was never named in 'Fracture', I dubbed him Kendricks.

What was that? Lex opens his eyes and listens. He can hear the wind picking up outside, but he's used to that sound; it wouldn't have awakened him. He can't see anything on the half of his bedroom that he's facing that shouldn't be there. He turns over, pretending sleep, and studies the other half of his room from beneath his lashes. Nothing there either.

And yet all his finely honed instincts scream that something is amiss. Hmmm. He abandons the pretense and stretches. What is it this time? Meteor freak rampage? Suicidal Metropolis criminals? Crooked Smallville deputies? Invading aliens? His dad? His brother? The Justice Twit Team? Neighbors with pitchforks? Secret society sociopaths?

Lex sighs at the number of possibilities. Distant muffled noises leak through the thick walls, but the house phone on his table remains silent. His cell is also silent and there are no text messages either. Isn't that interesting?

Good thing that he never travels without his own personal security team, but they are outnumbered by the Luthor Manor household security that his dad controlled. Lex gets up and quickly sheds his pajamas. He grabs a pair of black jeans from a shelf in his closet and takes a chocolate brown cashmere sweater. He pulls them on and slips into a shoulder harness. He tucks a spare ammo clip into his pocket at the sound of a tap on his bedroom door. Lex leans around the edge of his closet and takes aim at the center of the door.

There's a second firmer tap on the door, and then Mercy's low voice, "Lex?"

"Come in." Lex lowers his weapon.

"Lex?" The door opens a narrow crack and a tall woman slides through. Her gaze goes first to the big bed and then she spots him in the shadows. "We've got company."

"So I gather. Who?" Lex shoves his bare feet into a waiting pair of black running shoes.

"We don't know and if the manor's security knows, they haven't shared that info with us. Whoever it is has launched an attack via the gardens bordering your bedroom."

Lex frowns. Do the attackers know the layout of the castle? It wouldn't be that hard to find out which suites belonged to which family members. Were they after him? Or is the attack on his side a feint to conceal their intentions? They might be after his dad or Lucas. "Status on my brother and father?"

"Lucas is holed up in the tower and your father is remaining in his suite for the moment. Would you like to go to a panic room now or wait?"

"A little early for that. Do we have any intel on their intentions or target?"

"We haven't acquired any prisoners to question yet."

"Let's go make an acquisition then." Lex smiles coldly. "Before the household security team does. I want to be the first to know what the fuck is going on."

Lex looks at the tightly tied naked man resting on tiles next to the wading pool that he had delighted in as a child. His captive's heavily tanned skin is bare of any helpful tattoos or identifying marks. The cheap clothes had been equally unremarkable and unhelpful. He gives the pile of black wool coat, sweater, trousers, boots, and briefs, a dismissive look. All mass produced; they could have been purchased anywhere.

Apparently his dad doesn't believe in paying scientists enough to buy a decent wardrobe. No wonder Mercy had such little trouble persuading someone to supply her with all camera footage she wanted from the LuthorCorp. Which Luthor had Kendrick hoped to bag tonight?

Which Luthor had the former head of Project Intercept imagined would do the most good? Probably not Lucas unless the plan had been to take his brother and attempt to use Lucas' safety as some sort of bargaining point. Or the plan could have been the same with himself as the target. Perhaps even both of them. They were Lionel Luthor's only heirs. Kendrick's goal could have been mere revenge in which case, murder may have been on the scientist's mind rather than ransom.

Lex gives the man's shoulder an impatient poke with the toe of his sneaker. He hadn't hit the scientist that hard. He studies the bruises forming on Kendrick's face. So perhaps he had been a trifle - annoyed, but still, he hadn't hit the scientist nearly as hard as he wanted to once he realized who the man was. Lex glances over his shoulder at the landscaped entrance to the indoor pools, where Hope and Mercy are keeping guard. Near enough to get to him fast, but far enough away that they won't overhear his little chat with his captive.

They've worked around the metahuman community long enough that they are likely to assume that Clark is simply yet another one, but no point in tempting fate. Particularly not when he has no idea what Kendrick might have observed or concluded. The spies that he'd set on the scientist had reported nothing out of the way. No variations in routine activities. Lex snorts. Somebody had missed Kendrick's decision to man up. "No variations in routine activities, my white ass."

Lex turns back to watch the fish swimming around the pool is that acts as their temporary housing. Why is watching fish supposed to be so soothing? He had been bred for the maximum colorful cuteness that a goldfish could achieve. The sleek flash of gold, silver, red, black, and white scales as his goldfish cut through the water does make attractive patterns, but he can't imagine simply sitting and watching for an extended period of time.

His gaze narrows. Has the clown running the most recent anger management class that he'd been sentenced to lied to him? Had those studies about fish watching been faked? Still the claim that he'd taken up fish keeping and breeding as a form of therapy had convinced the group that he was trying.

Lex frowns at the Olympic-sized swimming pool; it's eight feet from the wading pool. That should be far enough that no splashes of pool water contaminated the makeshift goldfish pond, but he'll feel better when the new pond is ready. A sharp gasp draws his attention back to his captive. Lex smiles as an appalled brown stare focuses on him. "Dr. Kendrick. A trifle late for an unannounced visit, isn't it?"

"You know me? But you were unconscious the entire time!"

Lex raises an eyebrow. "Did you really believe that I wouldn't find out?"

Kendrick flexes his muscles, straining against the ropes. "But your father said that if you woke up at Smallville Medical after being shot, you wouldn't have any reason to question it."

"Interesting theory. Almost as most as interesting as the idea that out of all the people involved in transferring a patient back and forth between the hospital and lab, none would be curious and talk." Lex watches the scientist's increasingly vigorous struggles. He smirks as Kendricks finally subsides. "Certain of my medical team alternated between being outraged over my being shuffled around and rabidly curious about how I returned in such an improved condition."

"I advised your father against the attempt. It was madness. Every volunteer for Project Intercept died."

"So I discovered." Lex leans forward, his hands on his knees. He smiles as his prisoner presses back against the tiles, watching his every motion with wary eyes.

Kendrick asks, "Can't we make some sort of deal?"

"Perhaps. What did you have in mind?"

"I can tell you anything you want to know about Project Intercept. I was the project head from the beginning of the experiment until the end. You must have questions about it."

Lex shrugs. "I have copies of all the reports, both the official and unofficial ones. I have every scrap of footage from the cameras in the lab and the security cameras in the hallway. I have the plans, the blueprints, the equipment inventory lists as well as a list of all personnel assigned to the project, the expense vouchers and spreadsheets connected with the project. I seriously doubt that you can provide any new information on the subject."

"What if I told you that I wasn't here for you. That this has nothing to do with you."

"Oh? Who were you after - my dad, or my brother?"

"Why would I want your brother? He's nothing but a brainless thug What use would he be?" Kendrick snorts.

"A lot of people make that assumption about Lucas. it rarely turns out well for them." Lex taps his fingers against his knees. "That leaves my dad."

"Would that be a such problem? It's no secret that there's no love lost between you and your dad." Kendrick gives him a sly look. "Why not let me go? Pretend you never caught me. It's not like he took you to my lab as part of a desperate attempt to save a much loved son, is it? He wanted to steal something from your dying mind."

Lex stares hard at his fish, trying to calm the anger simmering inside. They are gathering along the side of the pool next to him. Almost as if they are waiting. Are they attracted to his shadow? The vibrations of Kendrick's struggle with the ropes?

"Look, let me go," Kendrick urges, "and I can take care of your father for you. Hell, I'll throw your brother in as a freebie. You will be the sole heir. How about that?"

Could he have defective fish? They aren't making him feel the least calmer. Lex flexes his hands, curling them into tight fists. "You think that I'm interested in that offer?"

"Why not? You're a Luthor." Kendrick sneers. "You're all the same. You would sell out anyone and everyone for the right price."

Lex touches the thin gold Napoleon watch that his mother had given him. He remembers the look of longing on his dad's face when the older man watched Martha Kent. The secret pride in his brother's eyes as they stride shoulder to shoulder into the hottest clubs. He thinks of his lost Amanda's giddy giggle and Clark's wide grin. "No, not everyone, but there are quite a few anyones that I would be willing to auction off."

Kendrick starts at the sound of a splash. "What's that?"

"Fish. They're hungry."

"Fish?" Kendrick pales. He strains to lift his head high enough to see over the edge of the pool. "What - what kind of fish? Goldfish? You had me worried there for a second. I wouldn't have figured you for the goldfish type. Were they fresh out of piranha at the pet store?"

"Why not goldfish?"

"I expected electric eels or sharks."

"Sharks? In a pool that size?" Lex asks. Sharks are so - expected. So obvious a choice, but electric eels, that's a concept that might be worth pursuing. What kind of useful mutations might an eel develop after being exposed to kryptonite? And how many generations would it take afterwards to breed the mutated genes in and the kryptonite out so that they would be Clark-safe like his goldfish?

Lex smiles dreamily at a vision of Domenic going zzz-zzzit and convulsing amid a pile of green eels. Still, eels lacked the disarming cuteness of goldfish. Could he make a cute eel? Perhaps if he bred some with subtle glittery racing stripes. It's something to consider. "Electric eels - that's an interesting idea. Very interesting."

"I could give you details on all the LuthorCorp projects that I know about. Be your inside man there."

"I already have methods in place for acquiring any information that I want about my dad's projects. I'm beginning to doubt that you do know anything of interest. Perhaps I've wasted enough time on you."

"How about this? I put together three teams to grab three different people. That grab your interest, Luthor."

His anger simmers to higher roil. Lex stares coldly down at his captive. His voice drops to an almost whisper, "You aren't here for revenge because my father shut down Intercept, are you?"

"Your father was right to close it down. People died testing Intercept. Every single one of my volunteers - I thought that all my work was wasted. And then you were wheeled into my lab." Kendrick stares the unmarred smoothness of the other man's forehead. "You were shot in the head, but when I saw you that evening - you didn't look like it. Or like someone who'd just been wheeled out of surgery. No obvious wounds. No stitches. No swelling. Nothing."

Lex forces his fist to uncurl. "Smallville Medical has an amazing staff and all the best equipment."

"I don't know of a damned thing on Earth that could explain what I saw. I knew you were different as soon as they rolled you in."

"Naturally I'm different. I'm a Luthor."

Kendrick snorts. "I doubt that accounts for it as much as you might like to believe. What makes you different?"

"Didn't you get the memo? We're all different."

"Not as different as you. Not as different as those other two. Clark Kent lasted longer that any of the other test subjects and that girl, Chloe Sullivan - you were dying and pulling Kent down with you, then she touched you; reversed it somehow."

Lex glares at his fish. Now would be a good time for that calming effect to kick in. He's on the verge of completely losing his temper. The therapist in that fucking anger management class had been a lying sonofabitch. His hands knot into fists and his breathing quickens. He is in control. He will not lose his temper.

"Come on, Lex." Kendrick grins with sudden confidence. "Think of how profitable Project Intercept would be if we can figure out what makes Sullivan and Kent so diff--"

Lex sets one sneakered foot against Kendrick's shoulder and the other against the man's flank and shoves hard. He leans forward and watches as the fish surge greedily around the scientist's wildly writhing form. The water turns into a frothy foamy red and then smooths out.

They hadn't lied after all; watching goldfish is remarkably calming in the right circumstances. Lex glances at his watch. His fish had made excellent time as well with no unsightly bits of bone left behind. His experimental new breed is a vast improvement on both goldfish and piranha. Lex calls, "Mercy. Hope."

They jog toward him, halting next to the bench. They look from the pile of clothes to the reddened water and the tattered bits of bloody rope drifting toward the bottom. Hope gives the fat goldfish a wary look. Mercy keeps her gaze on his face. "Yes, sir?"

"Tell Gina to dispose of these," Lex waves a hand at the clothes. "She should tell Todd to clean the fish pond and keep an eye on my fish. I will expect a report on their health on my desk first thing the morning. And tell him to read up on electric eels."

"Eels." Mercy rolls her eyes. "Right. Got it."

"Scramble a security team now," Lex strides toward the door. "Tell them to assemble in the garage. We're going to the Kent Farm. Clark Kent has been targeted for kidnapping. I want his safety secured. Immediately. Kara's too."

They fall in slightly behind him. Mercy murmuring into her headset and Hope frowning at him. "Mr. Luthor, if I might suggest -"

Lex ignores her as he busily wrestles with temptation. Could he get away with allowing Kendrick's team to make off with that blonde thorn in his side? He strides out of the pool area into the gym, still ignoring Hope's suggestions that he stay behind and leave it to the professionals. No, damn it. He's going to have to protect Chloe too. If Clark ever found out that he could have and didn't, Lex sighs. "Pull a team from LexCorp and send them to Chloe Sullivan's apartment. Don't approach her. Don't let anyone get to her."

"Yes, sir." Hope begins relaying instructions through her headset.

"Lex," Mercy begins as they step into an elevator.

"No."

She narrows her eyes at him. "No?"

"No. I am going to Kent Farm." Lex hits the button to take them up from the basement level gym to the garage. Should he order the deaths of Kendrick's teams? How much do they know? If he were Kendrick, he wouldn't spread any more information around regarding his goals than he had to. "Find out who Dr. Kendrick hired for tonight's work. Find out what they know. I want them watched."

Hope nods. "On it."

"Delegate it." Lex strides out into his garage to find his team waiting by a trio of plain black cars. He pulls his cell out of his phone and hits speed dial for the farm. One of his team pulls open a door for him and he slides onto the long backseat as he listens to the rings.


	9. Evening Rescue (9/10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark is still having a good time...until he gets darted by Team Evil Scientist. Team Lex rescues Clark.

Clark moans loudly as his scotch-wet hands slide over his body. He stares up at the photos of Lex taped to his ceiling. The ring of the phone seems far less interesting than the scent of scotch and the prod of his new Maximum Blastoff Vibrating Butt Plug humming happily in his ass. "Lex. Ohgodyes! That's right, baby. Give it to me. Give it to me now!"

He presses his hips against the mattress, and imagines Lex pressing deeper inside him. Panting, he hits the Blastoff button on the remote. He yells and bounces wildly on his bed as the plug buzzes his prostate. "Ohgodlex! LEEEEXXXX!"

Clark collapses back on the mattress. He gropes for the remote and switches it off. He slides a hand beneath his sweaty, trembling thighs and pull his butt plug out. He discards it on the sheets and rests there, panting and quivering. Ohgod. God, he feels good.

Nothing like having the house to himself. Being able to yell his heart out. No worries about being overheard. No biting back the words. He glances at the clock. He really should take a shower and pop his sheets in the laundry first. He'll take care of that in a second or two. He yawns and his eyes close.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Lex picks up a dropped dart, frowning at the dark pink liquid oozing at the tip. He holds dart out to one of the guards. "Wrap this up and lock it in the glove compartment. I want to analyze it myself later. Be careful with it."

"Yes, sir."

Lex glances at the barn. He can see three guards standing over the handcuffed men that his team had collected thus far. He would be delighted to arrange an unfortunate accident for each and every one of them, but Clark would probably insist on calling Sheriff Adams and pressing charges. He beckons Hope. "See that we obtain all the tranq darts that they have. Replace them with standard darts. I don't want the formula that they used becoming public knowledge."

"I will see to it." Hope glances at the open door. She frowns at him. "Are you certain, Mr. Luthor, that you don't want us to sweep the house before you go in?"

That would be his normal preference, but if Clark had done something - left some evidence that might need to be altered, best that no one else saw it." Lex moves up the steps "No one goes in except me. Stay here unless I call you. Secure the perimeter."

"Yes, sir."

Lex steps through the door and hits the light switch. Everything looks normal. He slips his gun out of his shoulder holster and moves lightly up the staircase. He eases along the hallway to Clark's room. The door is wide open and a rectangle of light spills out into the hall.

He takes a deep breath and gasps at the mingled smells of cheap scotch and sex. Lex scowls. His eyes narrow into vicious slits. If he walks in there and finds a certain blond cretin with his fucking alien, he's going to - going to - feed his goldfish! Dice Oliver into goldfish kibble! Very, very slowly. Starting with Oliver's most sensitive bits.

He moves cautiously through the doorway and freezes. There's a very naked Clark spread across the bed. His fingers curl with the urge to touch that honey gold skin and trace the flex of muscles. Lex stares at the damp rosiness of the other man's cock. His gaze skitters away and over the border of black curls that thin as they point up to the ripple of Clark's six pack and the narrow waist. Then up to the heavy muscles of chest and shoulders and Clark's face.

He looks away, frowning at the bottle and glass on the table. When had Clark started drinking scotch? The alien complained loudly enough about his consumption of it - the lying, hypocritical bastard. Lex moves closer, his nose wrinkling. Fucking damn. How much had Clark drunk? It smells like brunette had taken a bath with the stuff.

Wait. Clark jerks off with scotch? Lex holsters his gun. He takes a step closer and hops to one side as something goes crunch under his foot. What the - he swivels at the sound of a low hum. Thunk, hummm, thunk, hmmm, thunkahumthunk, humumummm. He blinks down at the butt plug quivering excitedly against the rug. He steps past it and leans over Clark, trying to keep his mind on what he's supposed to be doing.

Odd, how difficult it is to concentrate. That's a problem that he's never had before. How does Clark sleep in here? It's so hot, even with the window cracked open. Lex scans the length of Clark's body again. Where's the fucking dart? Not in the sturdy throat. Not the shoulders. Not the arms. Not the torso. Not the thighs. Wait. What's that? He gets glimpse of silver as one of Clark's long legs shift.

Great. They darted him in the ass. Terrific. Lex shoves the brunette's shoulder, but Clark doesn't move. He gingerly grabs a fistful of sheet and yanks hard. Clark rolls off the bed and hits the floor with a thud. Lex sighs. Oh, well. Clark's face down at least. The enthusiastic and suggestive hum-thunk-humathunkahum of the butt plug is impossible to ignore. He can't think with that - that noise. Lex stomps the remote and then kicks it and the plug underneath the bed. There. That's better.

Except now, it's just him and Clark's upturned ass. Lex kneels next to his friend. His hand hovers over the dart sticking out of one cheek. A tremor runs through his fingers. It's so golden and rounded - like a peach. A shiver races down his spine.

He's never looked at another man's ass and seriously pondered - logistics. His palm settles over the ripe curve and squeezes; it fits into his hand like it was custom designed for him. This - this is his. Oliver is never getting it. Ever.

"Lex?" Mercy calls.

"Everything alright?" Hope hollers.

"Fine!" Lex yells back.

"Do you want us to -"

"NO!" Lex grabs the dart and pulls it out. He drops the dart into his coat pocket and gets up. He leans over and snatches the red and white quilt that had been kicked off the foot of the bed. Lex stomps back and flings the quilt over Clark's naked ass.

.

 

 


	10. Evening Rescue (10/10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex wakes up with a frisky Clark in his bed later that night.   
> TBC in "Monday After Blues".

Two hours later, Lex wakes from a dream about being crushed by a scotch-scented circus elephant to find Clark nuzzling insistently against his nape. He sighs. "Clark?"

"Ummmmm, Lex."

His eyes snap open as a very large cock begins rubbing hopefully against his backside. Lex sighs even louder. "Clark."

"Lex. Ummmm."

"I have a meeting tomorrow morning."

"Hmmmm."

It's clear from the tone of that hum that Clark considers that information to be a totally irrelevant detail. Lex jabs elbow into his alien's ribs. "Ouch!" His eyes narrow. Was that a snigger? He believes that it was. "If you don't knock it off, immediately, I'll make you get up when I do."

"Lex, I get up at 4 AM," Clark whispers, "every single day."

Lex twitches as the breathy whisper is followed up by a suggestive tongue in his ear and then a nibble on his earlobe. Oh. Oh, that feels nice. Even nicer when the nibble is traded for slow sucking kisses on his throat. God, yes. That feels very good. He arches his throat. Goodgoodgoooood.

Wait. Wait. Bad! Very, very, very bad. Badbadbad. He has a meeting tomorrow. Early. Besides Clark is under the influence of whatever drugs were in the dart. It would be very bad of him to - oooooh, god, yes!

Lex bucks into the big hand fondling his cock through his silk pajamas. Yesyesyesyesyesyes! Wait. Where the hell had his bottoms gone? He'd had them on just a second ago. He goes on full alert as Clark's thigh edges between his and Clark's cock swipes a damp streak across his cheek as the brunette shifts position. Nononono. He's not ready to get that gay tonight. Sneaky alien bastard! "Clark! Not happening. Back the fuck off!"

"Oh god!"

What now? Lex turns over, startled at the speed with which the warmth along his back had vanished. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He sighs at the Clark-sized lump huddled against the headboard. Apparently he can forget about getting any sleep tonight.

"Oh, god. Lex, I'm so sorry. I thought I was dreaming."

Lex elbows his way to the top of the bed and turns on the light. Even as he watches his companion's horrified teal eyes abruptly narrow in suspicion.

"Why am I in your bed? What am I doing at the castle?"

"What's the last thing that you remember?" Lex smirks with satisfaction as the other man's face flushes bright pink. "And might I point out that I was the one getting groped, not the one doing the groping."

"I'm sorry." Clark hunches his shoulders.

Lex rubs a hand over his face. "Clark, look -"

"Really sorry." Clark manages to huddle even smaller. "I would never, never - I mean you're the very last person that I would ever want to hurt like that. Oh, god. Lex, what did I - "

"Oh, for god's sake. Shut up. It's too late for this."

"I know," Clark whispers to his knees. "I'm so very, very, very - "

"If you say that you're sorry one more fucking time, I swear I'm going to throw you off the damned balcony. It's 2 AM! I have to get up at 5 for a crappy LuthorCorp Board meeting."

"Oh." Clark looks up, his face brightening. "So we're okay? You don't hate me?"

"Ask me again at 5," Lex mutters grumpily. He turns off the light and settles back against the pillows. He covers a yawn with his hand.

"Um, why am I in the castle?" Clark asks.

"I should have left you in a nice cold garage. My mechanic doesn't need the sleep. He doesn't have to attend a LuthorCorp board meeting and make sure that creepy bunch of reptiles don't try to sneak something past him."

Clark stretches back out and relaxes. "So what did happen?"

"There was - an incident."

"An incident? What sort of incident? Did anything - strange happen?"

"Strange? No, not really. Some people tried to break in and kidnap me."

"Lex!" Clark turns toward him. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"Do I look damaged?"

"No. You look very - uhum - so who were they? What happened? Does Sheriff Adams have them under arrest?"

"Not exactly."

"Lex. What did you do?"

"Saved your ass!" Lex gives the other man an annoyed stare. "Again. You might try saying, 'thank you, Lex', or 'you're wonderful, Lex'. You might even go so far as to say, 'you're a god among men, Lex'. Did I hear a snigger?!"

"Me? Snigger? No. No. That was a cough."

"In the course of beating back fiendish kidnappers, I discovered that certain of my known associates had also been targeted."

Clark sits up, eyes wide. "Me?"

"You."

"Oh." Clark eases back down. "So they wanted me, you, and?"

"Chloe."

Clark pops back up, jostling the bed. "Chloe! Is she alright?"

"Perfectly. Safe in her bed, dreaming of headlines and bylines. My people intercepted the group after her before they got to her. She doesn't even know that it happened."

Clark stares at him for a long moment. A slow sly grin spread across his face. "Lex, why am I in your bed? Was there a sudden room shortage at the castle tonight?"

Bastard. Just had to bring that up. Lex stares resentfully back. "I have a meeting tomorrow."

"So you mentioned. A few dozen times."

"5 AM."

"Sleeping late, huh?" Clark grins. He ruthlessly yanks the covers back and straddles the older man.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Lex glares. "It's cold. I fucking hate being cold. Did I mention that I have to get up at 5? I need my sleep."

Clark reaches down and flicks open the first button on the black silk pajama top. "You put me in your bed. Naked."

"Have you ever tried to dress an infant? I remember trying to stuff Julian into his clothes. I figured that a sleeping farmer was four hundred times worse."

"You didn't call security." Clark undoes the next button.

"Call them? I just got rid of them. Why would I want to call them? They can't sleep for me. Or keep my dad's crew in line. 5 fucking AM, Clark." Lex watches as his last button is freed.

"You didn't go all special forces smackdown on me." Clark spreads the silk top open and stares. He licks his lips and stares some more.

Lex shivers, not at the chill, but at the look on his alien's face. No one has ever looked at his body like that, with such amazed wonder - like he's got the dream Porsche of naked bodies. He whispers, "Clark?"

"Thank you, Lex." Clark leans down.

Ohohooooh. So soft and full and warm and - ohyesyesyes. Lex promptly grabs the brunette's head, ignoring the smirk that he can feel forming against his lips. Soft, soft, soft. Soft hair sliding between his fingers. Soft mouth faithfully molding to his.

He opens his mouth to the wet velvet probe of tongue, sucking it deeper into his mouth. Opening wider. Suddenly desperately hungry for this. The needy push of Clark's body against his, the rub of stubble against his skin, the velvety graze of damp cock - it all feels so very very good. Perfect.

Fuck the 5 AM wake-up and the board meeting. Yesyesyes - wait. Where the fuck is Clark going? Lex wraps his legs tightly around the brunette's waist. No moving away. He likes Clark exactly where the alien is. Mouth to mouth. Cock to cock. He scowls as his lover eases away. "Get back here, Kent. Now. I'm not done with you."

Clark's smile is full of sultry promise. "I'm not done with you either. I'll never be done with you." He kisses base of Lex's throat and then each tight nipple. He kisses his way down the responsive ripple of his lover's stomach muscles. He pauses over the damp crown of Lex's cock and holds the silver hot stare. "You're wonderful, Lex."

"FUCKYES!" Lex arches into the heat of Clark's mouth. Ooooooh, yesyesyes. Yes! Yesyesyesyes! His hands alternate between clutching Clark's hair and shoulders. His thighs happily flex around his alien's chest. All the tension in his body is gathering, coiling, coalescing until he feels like he's on the verge of shooting off like a rocket. He spills down his lover's throat as Clark shudders against him.

Clark shifts his limp lover to the other side of the bed, away from the damp spot. He pulls the sheets and quilts up around them, creating a cozy nest. Clark slides his arm around the older man and presses a kiss to the smooth head. "You are a god among men, Lex."

"Damn right," Lex mumbles sleepily as his eyes close. His eyes snap back open and he stares hard at his companion's shadowed profile. "Did I hear a snigger?"

Clark snores.

"That's the worse case of fake snore that I've ever heard." Lex sighs as the only response that he gets is a second, louder snore. "You just wait. Tomorrow, when you come down from the joy juice, we're going to talk."

Clark's snore sounds decidedly unimpressed.

"That's what you say now." Lex finds a comfortable spot on his alien's shoulder. "Tomorrow, it will be a different story."

The End.


End file.
